


Faith

by venhediss



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, not technically NOT volfred/oralech, not technically volfred/oralech, polyamorous implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhediss/pseuds/venhediss
Summary: For Volfred, seeing Oralech again, alive, after all these years, felt less like a blow to the head and more like slipping fitfully into a fever dream.





	Faith

For Volfred, seeing Oralech again, alive, after all these years, felt less like a blow to the head and more like slipping fitfully into a fever dream. Despite the man’s ( _demon’s_ ) immediacy, the imposing presence he radiated, he felt so distant, still, and so hypothetical that the conversation played out more like a rehearsal than the real thing. Volfred recited his lines, watched from some cold, deep place as feelings and impressions flickered here and there. They didn’t seem to reach him, but they were still too close. In their place, he pulled practicalities and probabilities to the front of his mind, dragging at them until they began to weigh down his troubled thoughts like a heavy blanket on a cold night. Anything could be quantified if one tried hard enough, and although the Rite itself passed in a blur of motion and light, by the end of it he felt more like himself, or at least more certain of the ground he was rooted in. And although Tariq seemed to be trying more than necessary to steer conversation back to what had just transpired, Volfred valiantly pressed on in attending to the banalities of life spent on the path to enlightenment. The Golden Star beckoned them onwards; now was hardly the time to stray from its light.

But perhaps he should have known that it would be the quiet, the hollow, aimless span of time after everything had been settled that would slip effortlessly underneath his bark like a tongue of flame. The other Nightwings had already fallen into deep slumber; a recently-extinguished lamp and a quill rested atop the heavy, thickly-bound planner, now set to the side. The moon rode high in the sky and there was no use in fighting it: despite everything, Volfred _ached_ straight down to his roots, not for what had happened so long ago, but for what had not happened since. _Beyond foolish, and selfish, to mourn for what never was,_ but knowing it to be so did little to drive it away.

At some point Tariq had come outside (or had he always been outside?), had taken a seat nearby, but Volfred offered nothing in the way of greeting. The only thing he might say was not so easily put into words, nor did he truly want to speak. Eloquence seemed little better than a sham.

A cool, fleeting touch on his shoulder was all the encouragement he needed to let his own supports buckle under him, leaning into Tariq, who leaned back as if that one point of contact could say everything that needed to be said.

They sat there as the stars turned across the sky, two sides of an old roof doing their best not to cave in.

"What does this mean, Tariq?" Volfred’s voice was hollow with exhaustion. It was nearing dawn, the sky touched faintly with thin, watery light.

The reply, quiet as it was, was more felt than heard. "I believe, sir, that that is up to you to decide."

"And what of you?" Silence, just a beat too long, like straining one's ears after a dropping a stone into a well. "Do you truly have no feelings on the matter?"

"You already know my answer, sir." Tariq’s voice had not changed; it was soft as ever, but weighted with the implication of a mutually agreed-upon silence.

Volfred's weight shifted a bit as he sat up straighter, one wispy hand now pressed into the space between them, holding him up. His gaze turned sidelong, peering, with some fondness, many years into the past. "...I suppose I do."

"Then, forgive me but, if I may make a suggestion," Tariq began. "Perhaps you should attempt to clarify yours."

There was no malice in his tone, no reprimand, simply a neutral politeness stretched far too thin to conceal his true motive. It was so very like him to do such a thing, and Volfred couldn't hold back a long-suffering sigh. There was movement in the corner of his eye and he glanced over, but Tariq's face was in shadow, unreadable. Tariq’s hand, however...

The sigh rumbled into something almost like good humor, and Volfred felt a heaviness inside him clear away like a wave pulling out to sea. He accepted the peace offering for what it was, turned his eyes to the stars, took a deep breath, before letting it out, reverent as a prayer: “Oralech yet lives.”

The cool fingers entwined with Volfred’s tightened just a bit, encouraging. "He is...changed, as are we. I...mourn for the years he lost to suffering. Suffering I could have alleviated, had I known he..." The words had grown heavy again, far too heavy to continue to drag out into even the faint pre-dawn light. Volfred stopped, breathed, felt the hand clutched in his, more comforting than a mere hand had any right to be. "...I do not, _cannot_ fault him for his anger. It is clear that we walk very different paths now. And yet, I cannot help but hope that the Eight Scribes see fit to allow those paths to meet. Perhaps even to run alongside one another once more, be that for good or for ill." It felt like blasphemy, and above him the fading crimson glow of the Titan Stars mocked his audacity. "I can only pray that it shall be the former."

He did, in fact, send a quick and silent prayer flying towards the heavens, taking a moment to himself before glancing over at the suspiciously silent minstrel sitting beside him. He let his gaze hang a moment, making sure the other party was _very_ aware of it. "Now then...are you satisfied, Tariq?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."

Tariq was, of course, the picture of innocence. _Too_ innocent, in fact, and Volfred found himself laughing, shaky, a bit tight, but true. Tariq was bold enough to offer a smile, and before long, sounds of stirring and early morning grumbling could be heard from within the Blackwagon. The Star of Soliam, strong despite the growing light, beckoned to them, showing the way forward. They could only follow, together, and have faith that it would lead them where they longed to be.


End file.
